The destruction of Nyx Tower and the death of Persephone had finally cleared the sky of the oppressive dark clouds and relentless rain that had shrouded the city. Now, a brilliant afternoon sun shone overhead, its rays glinting off shattered glass and pooling floodwaters like scattered diamonds. It felt like a fragile ray of hope beaming down on the city's liberators—yet just as often, those rays were swallowed by towering plumes of black smoke rising from burning ruins. The Second Battle of Los Angeles raged on in full fury.

  The spawn of the Black Sun ran rampant amongst the ruins and their numbers were in the thousands. Pockets of fanatical cultists still resisted at every opportunity. Even though the cultists were without a leader and the horror-spawn were cut off from their extraterrestrial creator, they were still dangerous.

  All forces were fully committed. The landing of amphibious forces was a race against each other. With enemy AAA broken, attack jets operated with near impunity. Newly refueled, rearmed and reorganized, the Vanguard thrust north into Santa Monica in a wide hook that would eventually take them directly into the west side of downtown.

  On the stabilized southern flank, forces pushed aggressively out of their Long Beach perimeter and wheeled right. They advanced through the now sparsely defended Eastside,

  aiming to link up with the northern thrust and complete the encirclement of downtown—trapping the remaining Black Sun forces in a deadly noose.

  Meanwhile, combined international forces under Tidal Wave pushed north towards the south gate in what was a brave hour of unity for humanity. BLUFOR and REDFOR armor rolled side-by-side down long parkways. Joined against a common enemy that they knew had to be held here on this forsaken battlefield.

  ZBD-05s and ACVs rumbled in formation alongside troops clad in mismatched multicam, jungle camouflage, and urban patterns. Overhead, a chaotic symphony of aircraft commingled: F-35s streaking beside MiG-29s. The sky, once a theater of rival blocs, now belonged to a single, desperate humanity fighting for survival.

  Sky Carrier Iron Heart

  The recently arrived sky carrier was quickly set up as the primary command and control for all assets in what had become known as the Southern California Operating Theater. From here, the various fronts, their logistics, and all the minutiae of an extensive military operation were centralized. It was here that Ground-Commander Reinstead finally met the officer in charge of the international military force, callsign Tidal Wave.

  "You must be Ground-Commander Reinstead." The general greeted him as Reinstead entered the cordoned-off section of the hangar designated as the command center. "Brigadier General Martin, U.S. Army."

  Reinstead sized him up. He was the very picture of a round American, whereas the old Prussian was tall and thin. But from the efficiency of his staff, Reinstead knew he was a serious field marshal.

  Reinstead shook his hand. It was still dirty from days of fighting. "Glad to have you, General. Let's see what we can do to combine our resources here."

  "I was told the Leader-Commander was on his way?" General Martin asked.

  Reinstead pursed his lips. "He is indisposed, unfortunately. We will have to make do without him."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  The unanimous decision was made to deploy all reserves. The South Koreans and Australians were landed and deployed to the farthest reaches of the city to create a barrier to prevent any enemy combatants or monstrosities from escaping. The Japanese fast-response brigade, due to their helicopters, was redeployed to bolster them. There were already stragglers fleeing into the desert, which roving patrols of attack helicopters were hunting down like rats.

  Meanwhile, the heavy forces of the US, Russia, China, and the Terra Vanguard would surround downtown L.A. and slowly tighten around it. With heavy armor at the spearhead and preceded by walking barrages of gunfire support from naval platforms, their advance became inexorable and unstoppable.

  The unfortunate reality settled in that the city could not be saved. The ground here would be poisoned for years, if not decades. No one would be returning to the shattered city anytime soon. All that was left was to hunt the enemy to extinction.

  Field Hospital - Long Beach

  "Anything?" Kurt asked Milo. he was nearly drowned out by the sound of a Foxhound CASEVAC dropping off wounded.

  The R3C was returning from a trip to the geedunk and threw three sandwiches on the table at the center of Whirlwind's makeshift camp. They had removed their armor and kit and been placed in quarantine. Around half of the task force had come back alive, and only a third of that hadn't been wounded in some way. Even those who had been spared enemy fire were in bad shape from over-exertion, fatigue, and exposure.

  R1C Milo was hunched over a data terminal, scrolling quickly down lists of names.

  "Nothin' yet. Still listed as MIA. He could have been picked up and in all this chaos, they just haven't processed his info."

  Kurt frowned. They were talking about Tora. He believed the samurai was dead, but Milo was holding out hope. Kurt didn't have the heart to tell him to give up.

  He passed a sandwich to Milo and then another one to the young girl that Tora had saved. Technically, she was supposed to be evacuated with the last of the civilians, but she refused to leave their side. She didn't talk, but she wasn't physically harmed. The best they'd gotten out of her was her name, Eva. Kurt volunteered to take responsibility for her because when they tried to offload her onto the police, she physically fought them and wouldn't stop. She took the sandwich and devoured it in seconds.

  Kurt took the time to savor every bite of his. It was a thick layer of processed deli ham, cheese that probably didn't even count as a dairy product, and dried tomato in between industrial-grade wheat bread. It was the best thing he had ever tasted.

  "What about our fearless leader?"

  "Still MIA too."

  Kurt nodded somberly. "I don't think anybody could have survived that."

  "Yeah, but they're being tight-lipped about it. Can't shake the thought that it's just a little weird," Milo pointed out.

  Kurt shrugged.

  A Vanguard cargo jet bumped and jostled as it flew over the LAX beachhead, outbound over the Pacific. It's cavernous cargo bay was completely empty except for one cot and a wounded Rifle. Mike Perelli was laid out with an IV, heart monitor and oxygen mask attached to him.

  The medics surrounding him were keeping a close and constant eye. His body was swimming with adrenaline injections, but despite the volatile chemical being periodically administered, he remained unconscious. Occasionally, the medics had to perform chest compressions in order to make sure he continued to breath and that his heart didn't stop.

  His body was badly burned in many places. His eyes had to be covered in bandages. The palms of his hands were seared due to wielding the blade for so long while shining so brightly. His right hand was still clutching the dagger. They could not pry it from him unless they resolved to cut the whole hand off. For the time being, they let it be.

  Outside, the jet rigged in all flaps and drag fins as it configured for supersonic flight. It didn't have long to get back to Salvo.